


and so all yours

by StarAmongStones



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 14:13:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5589193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarAmongStones/pseuds/StarAmongStones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It’s not exactly taboo to let other people see your soulmate’s first thought about you, but now, standing two feet away from the guy who spent the last five hours making him feel inadequate and small, he doesn’t really want to remind anyone that even his own soulmate doesn’t believe in him.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	and so all yours

**Author's Note:**

> Soulmate AU where your soulmate's first thought is written across your ribcage.
> 
> Look, everyone, I know this has been done a thousand times before. Hell, I've written this before. But I don't care. I'm a sucker for soulmate aus. All day, every day.
> 
> Title from The Merchant of Venice by Shakespeare because that play is pretty fucked up and racist but Portia's soliloquy in Act 3, Scene 2 is kind of beautiful (though it's possible I only think that because my really attractive Shakespeare professor loved that soliloquy...):  
> "Beshrew your eyes,  
> They have o'erlooked me and divided me.  
> One half of me is yours, the other half yours—  
> Mine own, I would say. But if mine, then yours,  
> And so all yours."

The first time Eric Bittle lands a toe loop, he bursts into tears. His mom and Katya assume it’s because he’s happy he finally perfected the move - they had been working on it for a month, after all - and he lets them think that, but the real reason is etched into the left side of his rib cage.

The handwriting is clear, if a little messy, and the thought is short: _This kid plays hockey?_ So when he lands his first toe loop, he thinks, _I want to do this forever_ , before he remembers that he can’t. He just turned ten; he’s not a kid anymore. He might have to give up figure skating _any day_ now.

So he cries and his mom hugs him and Katya gives him five minutes to get himself together and he wonders what on earth would cause him to give all this up.

It’s not until the summer before his junior year of high school that Eric starts to think about hockey again. He’s good a figure skating, but he’s not great. There isn’t much competition in rural Georgia, and his parents can’t afford to take him to the larger competitions in other states, so he kind of stagnates. He still loves skating, but he starts to realize that he’ll probably never be asked to compete in the Olympics.

He tells his mom one night while he’s helping her load the dishwasher after dinner. His dad is watching a football game in the living room, volume turned up enough that Eric can hear every word the announcer says, which means it’s the perfect time for this conversation. It’s not that he doesn’t want to include his dad, it’s just that he already knows what his dad would say. If Eric admitted that he was maybe thinking of joining the local hockey club instead of continuing on with Katya this year, he’d start to rattle off all the benefits of playing on a team rather than relying solely on himself for success or failure.

So he leans against the sink and watches his mother scrub a casserole dish for a minute before asking, “Should I give up figure skating?”

Her hand slows, and then stops altogether. Finally, she looks over at him. He ducks his head, not entirely sure why he can’t meet her eyes right now.

His mother lets out a breath. “Do _you_ think you should give up figure skating?”

Eric starts to explain why it doesn’t make sense to keep going if it’s not going to lead anywhere, finally able to meet her eyes again because he _knows_ it’s the right decision, even if it hurts just a little. He finishes with, “And a lot of colleges offer really good scholarships for hockey. It makes sense.” Then, because she’s his mother and his best friend and he will always want her blessing, he asks, “Right?”

She smiles at him, looking a little sad and, maybe, a little proud, too. She asks, “Are you doing this because you want to, or because this-” she digs her fingers into his left side, tickling him until he squirms away, “says so.”

When he has his laughter under control again, he says, “I want to.”

“Okay.” His mother nods. “We’ll go see Katya tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

Surprisingly, Eric doesn’t feel like he’s given anything up at all. He still gets to use a lot of his figure skating moves in games. He spins, turns on a dime, skates backwards. He even manages to work in a jump when he scores (which is, admittedly, not often, but it still happens every now and then). Sure, he gets crap from the other teams, and sometimes even his own team, but it’s nothing new. Nothing he can’t handle.

And then he gets recruited by Samwell.

It’s like an entirely different world there. His mom flies out with him for a campus tour one weekend, and he knows this is his school by the end of the first day. During the weekend, he sees no less than three gay couples walking hand in hand through campus, runs drills with a few guys on the hockey team (and actually manages to hold his own quite a few times), and is not made fun of once.

The rest of high school is kind of a blur after that. Eric just wanders through his days, waiting until he can leave. He knows he’ll miss his parents. He definitely knows he’s going to miss the temperate winters. He figures he’ll probably even miss the comfort and familiarity of southern accents at some point, but he’s just so _ready_.

He misses his mother even before she actually gets on the plane to go home, but he works through it by going to his dorm, getting permission to use the oven in the basement, and stress baking about six pies, which he takes with him to the first hockey practice of the season the next day.

Hardly anybody is on campus yet, since it’s a full two weeks before classes actually start, so he can only take two of them. He doubts it’ll be enough, but he’ll get someone to help him bring the other four tomorrow. It’ll all work out.

They’re supposed to meet in a room on the fourth floor of the student union for the first two days before they even step foot in the rink, so he assumes they’re going to cover all the rules and get to know each other. Boring stuff nobody likes. Hopefully the pies will cheer everybody up.

He’s the first one in the room, so he sets the pies down on the back table behind the papers he assumes they’re meant to collect before they sit down and heads back out in search of a knife, forks, and plates. He finds some food places a few floors down and charms the workers into giving him what he needs easily, but apparently he wasn’t fast enough.

There are a few guys milling around the room when Eric gets back, but one in particular has pulled one of his pies to the edge of the table and appears to be mounting it.

“Get your dick out of there, Morser,” one of the guys towards the front of the room calls. “None of us wants syphilis.”

The guy - Morser, apparently - slides the pie towards the back of the table, thankfully far away from his crotch, and shoots back, “Fuck you, Shitty. You know I got that taken care of.”

A new guy pushes past Eric with a gentle shove to the side and a, “Why the fuck are you standing in the doorway?” before he heads towards the back table without a second glance. When he gets there, he says, “Aw yeah. Please tell me someone American Pie’d those babies.”

“Sure did, bro,” Morser says, raising his hand for a high five.

The other guy slaps his hand and says, “Sweet!”

“They may be animals, but they’re good guys,” someone says right next to Eric’s right shoulder.

Eric jumps a little. He hadn’t heard anyone come up to him. When he looks over, he sees it’s the guy who told Morser to stop making love to his pie.

“Shitty,” the guys says, sticking out his hand for Eric to shake. He’s saved having to wonder if they guy is saying what Morser did was shitty or something else when they guy says, “My name is Shitty. Well, that’s what everyone here calls me.”

“Eric,” Eric says a little faintly, taking Shitty’s hand. “Nice to meet you, uh, Shitty.”

Shitty laughs, but Eric doesn’t feel self-conscious about it like he used to when his teammates back home would laugh at him.

“Yeah, it takes some getting used to,” Shitty says with a shrug. He nods towards Eric’s hands. “What’s all that for?”

Eric looks down. He’d completely forgotten about the plates and silverware.

“Oh! These are for the pies.” He walks over and puts everything in a stack between the pies while Shitty trails behind. “It’s not like ya’ll can eat with your hands.”

“You brought those?” Shitty asks, eyebrows raised.

Eric bristles. “I _made_ those. Store-bought pies are tasteless abominations.”

Shitty blinks, looking between Eric and the pies and says quietly, “Huh. That’s new.” Finally, he shakes his head with a grin and claps Eric on the shoulder. “Welcome to the team, man.”

Before Eric can even start to work out whether or not that’s a good thing, one of the coaches clears his throat at the front of the room and says, “Okay, boys. Let’s get started today.”

The noise level dies down slowly as everyone finds a seat. Eric sits towards the back with Shitty and looks around, a little confused. There’s only about nine guys here.

“As you may notice,” the coach says, “only our new members are here today. We have some rules to go over and paperwork to sign before you can try out for the team. All of you are guaranteed a spot on the team, but not all of you are guaranteed to play. Try-outs for lines will be Wednesday and Thursday. We’ll announce a tentative line-up Friday. Sound good?”

The guys all nod and murmur their agreement.

“Great. Congratulations and welcome to Samwell.”

“Hell yeah!” Shitty yells, fist-pumping the air. Eric ducks away to avoid being hit.

Some of the other guys laugh and give their own shouts.

“Mr. Knight,” the coach sighs when the boys have calmed down a little. “You are not a new recruit.”

Shitty shrugs. “I was already on campus. Figured I’d meet the new guys.”

The coach is clearly trying to look stern, but he sounds fond when he says, “Try not to whip them into too much of a frenzy, okay?”

“Aye aye,” Shitty says with a salute.

“Thank you,” the coach says wryly. “Now, I’d like to turn it over to your captain. Jack, you ready?”

One of the guys in the front row stands with a nod. He’s got thick, dark hair, broad shoulders, a perfectly round butt that makes Eric blush slightly and refuse to acknowledge beyond the initial noticing, and, when he turns around, icy blue eyes that make Eric stop breathing for a second. Everything put together like that makes Eric’s brain kind of stop functioning for a bit. All he can think is, _Wow_.

“Good morning,” Jack says. “I’m your captain this year. We already have a great group of guys here at Samwell, and I’m sure you will all make our team even stronger. Now, you should have picked up a few papers from the back of the room…”

The next two days aren’t awful. The guys are pretty cool, but he still feels like he’s at a slight disadvantage. It turns out most of them tried out in person during a week-long try-out-training-session combination last May. Eric is one of only three freshman recruits. Which is kind of cool, but it means over half the room already knows each other. Still, by the end of the second day, they all know each other almost too well.

Shitty sits by Eric during all the presentations, doodling on the backs of the print-outs while Eric takes diligent notes, only leaving Eric’s side when he plays get-to-know-you games with the other new guys, which Shitty deems “too painful to participate in willingly”, so he goes to stand by Jack then and heckles them while they play the games. Jack just stares impassively, occasionally smiling very slightly when Shitty says something he apparently finds particularly funny. (Which, coincidentally, are about the only times none of the other guys laugh along.)

Eric honestly has no idea what to think about Jack. On the one hand, the captain seems to know a lot about hockey. He seems passionate about it in an understated way, and he seems to be invested in helping create the best team they can. On the other hand, though, _everything_ about Jack is understated. After two days, Eric hardly knows anything more about Jack than he likes hockey, he refuses to answer any questions about his parents (which, why anyone is asking about his parents to begin with is beyond Eric, but whatever), and he doesn’t eat any of the pie that Eric brings.

It’s not until Wednesday when they take the ice for the first time that Eric finally starts to understand Jack. Jack doesn’t just like hockey, he _lives_ it. He fits into the sport like he’s made for it. He sets up drills - day one is all puck drills - walks everyone through it once perfectly, and then sets them loose, offering the new guys encouragement or advice when he can. He leaves the returning players to the coaches, but it’s clear he wants to speak up with them, too. With anyone else, it might be overbearing, but with Jack it’s clear that’s just how he is. He’s not trying to _flaunt his superiority_ or anything like that, he just sees something he thinks might be useful for the other person to know so he says it.

Eric is one of the last players to take his place in front of the net. The drill is easy, really. All he has to do is shoot three pucks into the net as fast as he can. There’s not even a goalie standing in his way. He can do this.

Maybe.

His first one goes in just fine, but his second one misses. It makes him flustered; there’s nothing quite like messing up in front of an entire group of people. At least there are only about twenty guys here instead of an entire stadium full of spectators. At least he didn’t fall on his face. So he pushes the failure out of his mind like he used to when missed a move in figure skating, takes a steadying breath, and shoots the third puck. He knows it was a little slow, that the point of the drill was to be quick, but it still went in. He may not be perfectly happy with the performance, but it wasn’t a complete wash. He’ll get it next time.

Jack skates over to him after a minute, his mouth pressed into a thin line. Tersely, he says, “You need to be quicker.”

Eric blinks up at him, stunned. He’s heard Jack talk to the other players. He was _always_ constructive with them. He was even a little nice than he should have been with a few. Morser missed two of his three, and Jack just told him he’d get them all next time if he’d just focus on the net instead of the pucks. This is the first time he’s heard anything less than positive from Jack. He has no idea what to say, so he just says, “I know.”

Jack nods and starts to skate away. Almost immediately, he turns back around and says, “Try moving your right hand up towards your left a little on the stick,” and then skates off for good this time.

The next time it happens, a couple of drills later, Eric’s confusion gives way to annoyance.

“You can’t just hold onto the puck, Bittle,” Jack says. They’re running a drill where Jack passes the puck and Eric takes a shot at the net, and _apparently_ he’s not releasing the puck fast enough for Jack’s liking.

“I don’t understand,” Eric says, trying to keep his irritation out of his voice. He’s catching every one of Jack’s passes and they’ve hit the back of the net. “What’s wrong with what I’m doing?”

“You’re holding the pass,” Jack repeats. “When I pass you the puck, you sit on it for a few seconds. Don’t do that.”

“What?” Eric asks.

“Here,” Jack says, not even bothering to keep the irritation out of _his_ voice. It’s rude. “Pass me the puck.” He tosses a puck to Eric and then sets his stick on the ice at the ready. “Watch what I do.”

Eric passes it to Jack and he fires it into the net. If he’s being honest, all Eric sees is a show-off because that’s _exactly_ what Eric has been doing.

His thoughts clearly show on his face because Jack says, “You take the pass and make sure it’s secure on your tape before you shoot it. Don’t do that. Trust that your tape has already grabbed it enough.”

That sort of makes sense. He’s still irritated just got mad instead of trying to explain it differently, so he nods shortly and says, “Okay. Again.”

This time, Eric shoots the puck at the net while it’s still moving towards him, not bothering to stop it.

It bounces off the right goal post, but when he looks up Jack nods like he approves. Eric is kind of ashamed by how much that makes him want to jump up and down.

“Good,” Jack finally says. “One more time.”

This time, it goes in.

 

* * *

 

“Alright, boys, change quickly,” Shitty yells over everyone in the locker room once practice is over. “We are going out tonight!”

Some of the guys cheer and start ripping off clothes like their lives depend on it. One of the freshman recruits standing next to Eric says, quietly confused, “But it’s three o’clock on a Tuesday.”

Somehow, over the din of an entire locker room full of rambunctious hockey players, Shitty hears the comment. He just punches the guy lightly on the shoulder with a grin and says, “ _Any_ time is beer time. Learn that lesson fast.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Jack tells the freshman, who looks overwhelmed and a little terrified. “He’s taken one too many pucks to the head.”

“Uh, pretty sure that was you sophomore year,” Shitty corrects him. “Your head was a fucking magnet for those things.”

Jack grimaces like he remembers.

Someone asks for the story on that as they all change, and Eric tunes them out. He can see flashes of other people’s marks out of the corner of his eye. They’re all in varying sizes and handwriting, all along everyone’s left rib cage. It’s not exactly taboo to let other people see your soulmate’s first thought about you, but people don’t generally walk around shirtless. There’s still a little bit of privacy attached to it. Before now, Eric has never had a problem with other people seeing his mark. He’s been to the pool, he’s changed in locker rooms before. He’s fine with it. Now, though, standing two feet away from a guy who spent the last five hours making him feel inadequate and small, he doesn’t want to remind anyone that even his own soulmate doesn’t believe in him.

But he _is_ a hockey player. He can do this. He was never recruited to be a goal scorer. He was recruited because he’s fast. He kicked everyone’s asses this morning during suicides, and he’s going to blow them all away tomorrow when they do all the non-puck drills.

He’ll get better at handling the puck. He’ll prove to the coaches and his teammates, to Jack, to his _soulmate_ , that he belongs on this team. It’ll all work out. Until then, he’ll just angle his body so his left side is covered by the lockers, facing away from any teammates. Nobody needs to be reminded that people doubt him.

 

* * *

 

It’s not until after Eric scores his first goal - no one is more surprised than he is - that he stops actively trying to hide his mark from the others. His mark is long enough that he assumes he’s covered under the no-look policy; even if someone manage to catch a glimpse of it, they won’t have time to focus on it long enough to make out the whole phrase. By the end of his junior year, he barely even thinks about it anymore.

The thing about having your soulmate’s first thought about you tattooed on your skin in a semi-private place is that it involves a certain level of intimacy with another person. You have to want to take your shirt off, or at least lift it high enough to show off your rib cage. It’s different than changing in a locker room because showing another person your mark invites them to _look_ at you, to see an important part of your life.

There are plenty of people who reject the idea of soulmates. They date and love and marry whoever, even if their marks don’t match. That’s fine for them, but Eric has always been a hopeless romantic. He’s always just assumed he’d end up with the guy whose thought had been branded on his skin at birth. By the end of junior year, he still hasn’t found anyone he’s even thought about showing his mark to, still hasn’t found anyone he feels like he might match with. (Well, that’s not entirely true, but it’s not like he’s going to ask _Jack Zimmermann_ to show off his mark. That’s kind of a universal sign for, _I’m really like you and I hope you’re my soulmate_. Eric would be playing all his cards, and he’s not ready for that humiliation just yet. Or ever. He’s cool just sitting on this crush until it goes away or he finds his actual soulmate.)

So Eric doesn’t really think about his soulmate anymore. Sure, he worries sometimes late at night when he can’t sleep, like he’s sure everyone else in the world does, if he’ll ever _actually_ find his soulmate or if he’ll just have to settle for someone else, but he’s not too worried. He’s barely in his twenties. He has plenty of time. And he’d rather be picky than settle early and regret it later.

But then Shitty and Jack drive back to Samwell to watch Lardo, Ransom, and Holster graduate. They all break apart for lunch - Holster and Ransom eat with their respective families, Shitty eats with Lardo and hers, and Eric just takes Jack back to the Haus to eat and hang out until everyone else is done.

It’s honestly pretty great. Jack’s only been back once since he graduated because he’s been so busy, but somehow he and Eric have grown closer than ever. They at least text every day, they Facetime when they can (after Eric showed him how), and Eric’s been up to Jack’s place in Providence a couple of times.

With the play-offs and getting ready for the off-season for Jack, and finals for Eric, they haven’t really had a lot of time to just hang out and talk. It’s really nice.

Well, it’s nice once Jack is done signing autographs for all the boys in the Haus who haven’t gone home for summer yet.

“I can’t believe _the_ Jack Zimmermann came to see me graduate,” Lardo says, pulling him into a headlock when Eric tells them all how he was accosted when he walked into the Haus later that night. Ransom and Holster are still half packing up their room, half drinking with whoever else has decided to hang out in the Haus tonight, so it’s just Lardo, Shitty, Jack, and Eric now. They’re on the roof, catching up while they watch people wander in and out of the slowly dying party.

“Don’t start,” Jack warns, but he’s smiling as he lets her ruffle his hair.

Just as she lets him go, a boy runs out onto the lawn, lifts both his hands in the air, and shouts, “I just found my soulmate!”

“Matt,” a girl giggles from the porch below, “you’re going to wake up the whole street.”

“Good,” he says, running back to the house, and, presumably, his soulmate. “I want everyone to know.”

Eric just stares down at the lawn. He always marvels at scenes like that, how quickly it can happen. Someone goes to one random party and their soulmate, the person they’re a perfect match for, is just there. Boom. Happily ever after. Just like that.

Lardo breaks the silence that has descended over the roof by saying, “Gross.”

Shitty snorts, and Jack huffs out a small laugh.

They’re silent again until Eric hears Shitty say, “You wanna?”

He looks across Jack to watch Lardo and Shitty have a conversation entirely without speaking. They just kind of look at each other until Lardo shrugs and Shitty back turns towards Jack and Eric.

“Lardo’s moving in with me tomorrow,” Shitty says, clearly happy with the news. Before Eric can congratulate either of them, Shitty adds, “She’s my soulmate.”

“What?” Eric shouts. “That’s amazing!”

Jack offers Shitty a fist bump that Shitty takes enthusiastically.

“Yeah,” Jack says, smiling. “It really is. Congratulations.”

“When did you figure it out?” Eric asks. He immediately tacks on, “I mean, if you want to share,” because Lardo is still and intensely private person. They’ve grown really close this past year, but Eric still doesn’t know everything about her.

Shitty smirks at Lardo. “I’ve kind of always known. She’s not really shy about saying exactly what she thinks of you.”

“Well, you do say, ‘Bro,’ a lot. Was I wrong?”

Shitty shakes his head, smiling unrepentantly.

“Wait,” Eric says slowly. “You knew when you met? So you’ve been together this whole time?”

They look at each other again in the way couples always do when they’re telling a joint story, the look that says, _Do you want to answer, or should I_? Finally, Lardo says, “We wanted to figure out what this meant for us.”

Most of the soulmate pairs are romantically compatible, or at least have the potential to develop romantic feelings towards one another. Sometimes, though, a platonic bond can supersede a romantic bond. Usually in those cases, the pair acknowledges the bond, but leaves it open in case one or both members of the bond wishes to enter into a romantic relationship elsewhere.

“But you’re together now?” Eric clarifies.

“Yes we are, my dear Bittle,” Shitty says, slinging an arm over Lardo that she immediately shoves off.

Eric grins at them. “I’m really happy for you guys.”

“Same here,” Jack says.

“And I’ll be saying that to you before long, eh?” Shitty teases, reaching around Lardo to shove Jack gently into Eric.

Jack laughs sarcastically.

Eric takes a breath and asks as calmly as he can possibly manage, “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”

He’s a little hurt, if he’s being honest. He had thought he knew everything about Jack, but apparently there were some parts of him that he kept to himself. And why wouldn’t he? Eric’s just some kid he knew in college. It’s been two years since he graduated. Maybe he’s only keeping in contact out of pity. Maybe-

“I’m not seeing anyone,” Jack says, rolling his eyes but sounding amused. “Shitty just thinks he’s funny.”

“I don’t get it.”

“My mark? It’s just, ‘Wow.’ Not much of a clue, eh?”

This is not happening. This is _so_ not the time, but he also can’t ignore it any longer. He has to know.

“Bro,” Shitty says, concerned. “You went totally pale just now. You okay?”

“Your first thought about me wouldn’t happen to be, ‘This kid plays hockey?’ would it?” Eric says numbly.

Jack’s silence is all the confirmation Eric needs.

Eric forces a little laugh. “Hi, soulmate. Who knew, right?”

Jack just continues to stare at him, so he says, “I’m just gonna...go brush my oven. Bake my teeth. Okay, bye,” and lets himself back into the house through the window.

Oh _god_ , that was even more mortifying than he’d expected. On some level, he feels like he’s always known. He was drawn towards Jack from the beginning, even when he was being an unbearable ass. Now, he’s so in love with Jack that it hurts sometimes, though it mostly feels good. He has never felt that way about anyone else.

Eric locks himself in his room, crawls under his comforter (even though it’s seventy degrees out), and calls his mother (even though it’s one am).

“What’s wrong?” his mother answers, sounding groggy but alert.

“I’m sorry I’m calling so late,” Eric says, voice just beginning to wobble. “Can soulmate bonds only go one way?”

“Are you hurt?”

Just his heart, but that’s not what she’s asking. He explains, “I found my soulmate. I’m in love with him but he’s not in love with me because he’s not gay.” After a pause, he says quickly, “Also I’m gay.”

His mother lets out a surprised laugh and says, “Okay.” It sounds like she’s crying a little bit too now.

After they’ve both laughed and cried a little, his mother says, “So you think your end is romantic, and his is platonic?”

Eric nods, then whispers, “Yes.”

“I don’t-” she pauses, “I haven’t heard of that before. Neither has your father.”

“You’re talking to _Coach_ about this?”

“Well, Dicky, he’s worried too.”

And he’d thought this night couldn’t get any more mortifying.

“Do we need to come up there and meet you?” his mother asks gently when he doesn’t respond. They don’t exactly have the money to buy last-minute plane tickets, but he knows she’d do it in an instant if he said yes. He smiles slightly. “No, I’ll be fine. It’s just two more days, right? Plus I’ve kind of been expecting this for a while.”

“Oh, Dicky.”

“No. It’s fine.” He can feel the tears well up again when he says, “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“Any time,” his mother says, voice sounding a little thick as well.

“I’ll see you in a few days. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Eric hangs up and listens to some music to try and keep his mind from replaying the night over and over again. It doesn’t work. It’s hours before he can fall into a fitful sleep.

 

* * *

 

The next morning is really weird, but only because most of Eric’s friends are moving out. He wakes up a little later than usual and makes breakfast because it’s a special occasion while everyone in the Haus sits around the table one last time, soaking up each other’s company.

Shitty is the only new addition to the table. Jack isn’t there, and Eric assumes he left early this morning. He assumes this because no one talks about him. Not even the newbies, who should still be gushing about meeting _Jack Zimmermann_. He suspects Lardo threatened them into avoiding his name, and he feels nothing but intense fondness for her.

He’s going to miss this. Aside from Jack, all of his closest friends are here, and he has no idea when, or even if, he’ll see them all in one place again. Instead of dwelling on how much things are going to change next year, how much they’ve _already_ changed, he lets the conversation flow over him and enjoys it while he can.

 

* * *

 

“Alright, Señor Bunny,” Eric says to the rabbit as he stuffs it gently into his carry-on, “we’re homeward bound.”

He’d had to stay an extra few days after school ended to wrap up some things from this year’s hockey season and help the coaches prepare for next year, but he’s finally free. He’s going home, and then there’s only one more year left. It’s exhilarating and terrifying.

“You know he can’t talk back, right?” someone says from Eric’s doorway. He squeaks a little and jumps - which he refuses to be embarrassed by because the last time he checked he was the only one in the house - and spins to find Jack leaning against the frame.

His hands are in his pockets and his shoulders are hunched in the way they always get when he’s uncomfortable in a situation, but he’s got a hint of that stupid little proud smirk he always wears when he chirps someone.

Eric finds him utterly adorable.

“Goodness, Jack,” Eric says, turning back to his bag to zip it up so he won’t have to look at Jack and _ache_. “You scared me. Did you forget something the other night?”

“Bittle,” Jack says quietly. “Eric.”

Eric takes a steadying breath and turns around to face Jack.

“I came here to apologize,” Jack says, pushing himself off the door frame to stand up straight.

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Eric says quickly.

“No, it is. I shouldn’t have left like that. I just-” Jack pauses. As much as Eric is dying to talk over the silence, he lets Jack collect his thoughts. After what feels like ages, he continues, “I’ve never really dated. I, uh, spent time with a few girls here-”

Eric can’t help but laugh a little at the awkward euphemism.

“-but I’ve never had anything serious. Except for Shitty, who is my closest friend. So when we got close, I assumed we had what Shitty and I have.”

Eric nods. “It’s fine, Jack. Really. Just because I, you know, and we match doesn’t mean we have to do anything.”

“I know,” Jack says. He takes a step towards Eric then, and asks, “But what if I want to?”

It takes a while for Eric’s brain to function properly, so there’s a slight pause before Eric says, “Jack, you know how I feel about you-”

“Actually, I don’t-”

“-and I know you don’t feel the same way-”

“Eric-”

“-so I don’t think it would be a good idea to start anything. Because if we do and you don’t end up falling in love with me, I don’t think I could ever come back from that.”

Jack is quiet, and Eric leaves him to it. They probably both need some time to think. Eric checks the time and starts to say that he should really get to the airport soon, that maybe they can talk about this later after they’ve both had more than a few days to think about things, when Jack says, “The point of me telling you I’ve never been serious about anyone before was to let you know that I’m serious about you now. I just didn’t know.”

Eric has repressed his crush for so long that he almost can’t comprehend what Jack’s saying, so he asks, “What exactly are you saying? Use small words.”

Smiling now, Jack walks all the way over to Eric. He stops a few inches away and doesn’t reach out to touch Eric in any way, almost like he’s giving Eric the opportunity to back away. As if Eric is capable of denying Jack anything. The gesture is incredibly sweet, no matter how unnecessary, and so _Jack_ that Eric falls in love all over again.

“Eric Bittle, I am your soulmate, and I am happy about that.”

“Oh, lord,” Eric says faintly. He’s pretty sure nothing could ever top that, but then Jack leans in slowly and kisses him and Eric discovers he was wrong, he was so wrong.

When they finally break apart, Eric smiles up at Jack until he can’t take it anymore and tucks his head in against Jack’s collarbone, wrapping his arms around Jack’s waist. He feels Jack’s arms come up around his shoulders and pull him in tight.

“Hi, Jack,” Eric says softly into Jack’s chest. “I’m your soulmate. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

**Author's Note:**

> -For the love of all that is holy, please inform me of any mistakes or typos. Or if something doesn't make sense. (Or if I should just take this whole thing down. You can tell me that too.) There is always at least one thing I miss, no matter how hard I try.
> 
> -If anyone cares, the words on Shitty’s ribs are, “You look like you say, ‘Bro,’ a lot.” The words on Lardo are, “This girl’s amazing.”
> 
> -Also Jack visits Bitty about two weeks later in Georgia. They all lovingly make fun of Bitty for only thinking, “Wow.” Bitty ducks his head, trying hide his blush. “There was a lot going on." 
> 
> -Morser - Gregory Morse - was the alternate captain. (Does Samwell even have an A? Well, they do in this fic.)
> 
> -Apparently "rib cage" is two words. Who knew?


End file.
